


Unmoral

by pax (ultramar)



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Disordered Eating, M/M, Mental Instability, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 14:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11946690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultramar/pseuds/pax
Summary: it's all about writing slightly incoherent sentences,it's all about walking near the ashes..it really is about infatuation and never reaching it with greedy hands and dirty nails.Ryan's coping like he knows best, Brendon has never been deeper in his own pit of denial.





	Unmoral

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted on Mibba on the 17th of October in 2014,, i must say that i'm heavily influenced by a lot of writers from said site and that i am forever grateful of all the lovely fanfic i've read over the years. 
> 
> This fic has been lightly edited (maybe we could call this a _remastering_ of the original work) and posted again tonight because i am oddly proud of finishing this at the time i wrote it. 
> 
> thanks to everyone who stumbles upon this dusty work that it's seeing the light once again, and hopefully, in a better way. 
> 
> and lastly, i'm sorry. this is such a disturbed portrait of Ryan and Brendon and Sarah and i'm pretty sure that it may or may not be upsetting to some people.

There are better ways of forgiving someone than taking a step back and sharing excuses with yourself as how it never would have worked if you hadn't mentioned the pain in the invisible way the tried to cover their disinterest; if you hadn't mentioned the eggs shells around his house or the naughty remarks about themselves that sometimes crossed your eyes before you could stop yourself. It's not as if you were cruel because you weren't trying to be cruel either, you weren't trying to be cruel when they seemed impossibly unbearable for the evening with their immense guilt.

 

This isn't a formulated exercise from old lives that could have been yours, Ryan stayed behind in the paths that led him to the split, whatsoever The Consequences brought him to more cigarettes than is humanly possible in a week, to the permanently etched stains on his eyes, and now he needed to accept that it was irrevocably impossible to be stuck in his dirty little world forever.

 

Now, _you see_ , Ryan had to actually swallow his disgust and the balls of cotton and actually _play the guitar and sing again for something that used to be his._

 

The thing is, _you know_ for Ryan to start feeling like the Cliché Rockstar was revolting.

 

But by saying that it automatically turns into a Cliché Rockstar that he, himself, can't stand.

(not that he can stand himself any better though)

 

Ryan nowadays is oddly fascinated by little tiny people, kids, children and how they can look morbidly disturbing in certain situations when you take them out of context and you lay them bare until he remembers what he does the best and starts scribbling furiously on a wrinkled notepad about nature and weather. About gentlemen and brides. About the sky and hospitals. About anything that can be used only so many times by _him_ before it turns into something that everyone expects to fall from his lips, easily interlapping with smooth chords and a fragile voice that has never owned a spotlight.

 

He has never owned as spotlight and it won't change.

 

Brendon and Spencer called last week, asked him about the weather _(ironically)_ , didn't bother asking about his whereabouts in LA (probably didn't want to seem too invasive or maybe they had simply stopped caring) and went straight to the point. they had already contacted Jon and he had agreed with a chuckle and a shy implicit question of wether Ryan was alive or not (Ryan hadn't answered none of his emails this past month). They hung up shortly after all the initial and expected dull platitudes they exchanged and expressed their half-assed wishes to see him soon so they could catch up.

 

Truth was that Ryan was feeling lazy lately and he couldn't bring himself to say goodbye or care about the alarming amount of emails flooding his inbox right now.

 

Lately Ryan has been lazy about a lot of things: about the grocery shopping, the mantras of reassurance he used to chant, lazy about his body and the annoying aggressive thoughts that didn't seem to budge whenever he remembered that he, Ryan Ross _is still alive and breathing_. Lazy about his ribcage that seems to become noticeable as the weeks pass by. Lazy about the lyrics. Lazy about sparkles and songs he does not longer remember the name of.

 

Ryan has turned into a lazy halo of smoke moving through crowds too big for him to handle, resentment too big for him to hold.

 

Alienated too long ago to care.

 

He has tried _(oh, don't try to say he doesn't have because you don't know, you'll never be able to know)_ to brush off the itching sensation that has been left over his face ever since he held to the last thread of hope that was planted in him right after his friend's wedding. Although it doesn't sound right to call Brendon a friend anymore he can't help it, humans are animals made out of habits, they both know that the term 'friend' is a catch. They have never been friends, the last winter they spent in each others company was enough proof to show them both that their misconceived relationship was as steady as a flailing building that has homed too many murders in its lifetime.

 

Acquiescence is now his newest motto and that's why he accepts this rat hole he calls home and doesn't try to climb up to heaven were he left Brendon a few months ago.

 

Ryan won't tell, he is too ashamed of himself and still to angered to tell.

 

It had been sunny but not terribly so, Brendon in his lovely flustered state had grabbed Ryan's waste, almost marking his hand print through the thin fabric with too much force right after the ceremony and had pushed the lanky man to the nearest stall hidden spot from prying eyes before either of them could stall the situation.

 

Ryan had wanted to stop him, he was already a whore from his old fame at the band they used to share and the success it brought.

 

Ryan could never grasp the man's train of thought but he could at least try to grasp his strong biceps.

 

Ryan wanted, oh he wanted, to laugh darkly and slap Brendon, punch him, give him a bloody nose and a bruise to remember him on his honeymoon. He wanted to list the number of times he had dug his slender fingers on his almost non-existent flesh while watching him coo his new wife.

 

_He wanted to tell Brendon the feeling of being starved because you would choke on anything that crossed your lips if it wasn't his dick._

 

He didn't. He never did speak at the end.

"You would look so good on the shrine, pale skin all exposed," he had paused from shoving his tongue inside of the ghostly face with opaque eyes "you would look so good Ryan."

 

Ryan had thought for too long 'Yes i would' and now he was rotting away on the nothingness that came from everything, wondering wether the 'Yes i do' had left nearly enough of bitter taste on Brendon's mouth as the bile rising from his stomach.

 

***

 

~~_i don't understand why you always push me away_ ~~


End file.
